


Cousins

by Magfreak



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 13:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16723920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magfreak/pseuds/Magfreak
Summary: Sybil and Tom, now living in America, take their three children back to Downton Abbey for the fist time.





	Cousins

**Author's Note:**

> This was a Secret Santa fic for Mosteyn. Here is the prompt: "Show-era" Sybil and Tom plus children are visiting Downton for Christmas. For some reason, the Branson children and Crawley children are at loggerheads. They have a massive feud and try and play pranks on each other. It almost ends in tears, but all's well that ends well in time for Christmas :)
> 
> This is show canon, more or less, with Sybil and Matthew alive. Sybil gave birth to Sybbie on the show's same timeline, and she and Tom stayed at Downton with him working as agent and then moved to Boston, when Sybbie was about four, also on a similar timeline as the show (except they actually stayed there!). They had two more kids and are happily ensconced among Tom's Irish family in America. This is the first time that they have been back to Downton since they left, and the first time the two youngest Bransons have been there.
> 
> Mary and Matthew also had George on the same timeline as the show. A baby girl came along a few years later, after the Bransons had left. And even though the prompt didn't mention Edith, I thought it would be fun to add Pelham children as well. I'm sure that there were laws about this sort of thing and perhaps what I've done is unrealistic, but I have a total soft spot for Bertie and believe that he would have done what he could to officially adopt Marigold. So she's officially Marigold Pelham in this story and has one little brother—an heir, woo!—named after Bertie's cousin who died.
> 
> To recap, here are the names and ages of all the kids for reference:
> 
> Sybil Branson - 12  
> Saoirse Branson - 7  
> Michael Branson - 6
> 
> George Crawley - 11  
> Mary Margaret "Maisy" Crawley - 8
> 
> Marigold Pelham - 10  
> Peter Pelham - 6
> 
> The year is 1932, and although this is not quite peak Great Depression (historically, most consider that rock bottom was in 1933) and the Bransons feel lucky and happy to have as much as they do, they have felt the pinch of the times. The story begins with their arrival in Downton village, December 23.

 

"Sybbie was born _here_?"

Eight-year-old Michael Branson stared intently—and rather skeptically—out the window to his left as the car the Branson family was riding in made its way through Downton village in the early afternoon. It was only two days before Christmas, and though the children had been exhausted by their weeklong journey, the fact that the end was near had perked them up.

"Everything looks so small compared with Boston," added Michael's sister Saoirse, one year his senior and seemingly equally skeptical regarding the place where their parents had met, married and brought their eldest sister to life.

Tom and Sybil smiled at each other. Their two youngest children had never been to Downtown before. They'd traveled only to visit Great Grandmother Martha at her Park Avenue apartment in New York and her summer home in Newport, which also happened to be their favorite place in the world. This was the first time they'd be going so far from home, and the first time they'd be setting foot in the birthplace and childhood home of their mother and sister.

As the car made its way toward the house, Michael and Saoirse met the scenery visible out the motor window with the same level of skepticism they showed at just about every stop on their journey beyond their block near Blackstone Square in Boston's South End. They loved the world they inhabited quite deeply, but Sybil and Tom both knew that world remained quite small. After the crash, they'd done everything possible to persevere through the loss of Tom's job and income. He'd found another position as a teacher at the Catholic school the children attended and wrote articles for a local paper, paid by the column inch, while Sybil made decent wages working as a nurse. They'd been frugal and resourceful, making the best of things while depending on Sybbie to help care for her younger siblings away from school.

They found happiness daily in one another and wanted for little of the things that mattered, but as 1932 came to a close, and another Christmas approached and brought with it another invitation to return to Downton Abbey, Sybil felt the pull of home for the first time. She'd never want to return for good, but a part of her wanted to remember how far they'd come, to remember what they were capable of overcoming, and to widen their children's horizons. And so the Bransons packed themselves up, boarded a ship to cross the ocean, and a train to take them over the English countryside.

Now, here they were.

Miss Sybil Branson sat across from her father, who was flanked by her younger siblings, each with eyes fixed on the scenery passing out the window. Next to young Sybil, still "Sybbie" to her family, was her mother and namesake.

Tom watched them both with a smile. Sybbie looked every day more like the young woman her mother had been once when she'd called Downtown Abbey home. Sybbie didn't seem any more pleased than Saoirse and Michael at the moment. At twelve years old, she paid little mind to the teasing of her younger siblings, but she never liked it when they told people that she'd been born in England, not Boston. Her parents would always quickly point out that they had not been born in Boston either, and more to the point, nationality was not the measure of a person's character. But Sybbie still felt set apart from her Irish-American family. She was an avid reader, with a rather wild imagination, and had come to believe that the strange circumstances of her birth would come to mean something over the course of her life. She just wasn't sure what yet—or sure she wanted to find out.

"So how does it feel to be home, Syb?" Michael asked pointedly.

Before Sybbie could answer herself, Tom put his hand on the top his son's head and turned it back toward the window. "Your sister's home is in Boston as you well know."

"But she used to live _here_ ," Saoirse said.

"And so did I and so did mammy, so what of that?" Tom replied.

"I don't remember anything anyway," Sybbie said, "so it'll be like I've never been to Downton Abbey either."

"You really don't remember anything? Sybil asked.

Sybbie shrugged and looked out the window.

Tom and Sybil looked at one another again wondering if she was telling the truth or merely trying to get her siblings to drop their teasing. They hadn't really taken the time to talk to Sybbie about what it would be like to return to a place she'd spent a third of her life. For months after their arrival in America, at four and a half years old, she had continued to speak fondly of Thomas, Mrs. Patmore, Cousin George, Donk and all the people who had nurtured her in her early years. It wasn't until the birth of Saoirse that the old memories loosened their hold and began to make way for the new ones she was making and were soon supplanted altogether.

If her parents could look into her mind now, they'd know that Sybbie did remember some things—warms smiles, a puff of flour in the air in the kitchen, nooks and crannies in the nursery, a stone bridge, an old labrador. Pieces of a long lost puzzle her mind couldn't put together.

And she remembered the driveway.

As the car made it past the gates, the sound of the tires over the ground changed ever so slightly, as the road itself changed from the firmly packed dirt of the village streets to the looser gravel leading up to the front of the house. Sybbie's heart rate quickened at the sound, suddenly as familiar to her as the voices of her parents.

"Will our cousins be nice to us?" Saoirse turned to ask her parents as the house came into view.

"Of course, they will be darling!" Sybil answered with a laugh.

Saorsie's brow furrowed as if she didn't quite believe her mother.

"So they're not like Branson cousins," Michael said with a laugh.

"Hey!" Tom cut in.

"Bransons are always fun, Da, but not always nice," Michael said matter-of-factly.

Tom laughed. "I suppose that's true enough of you three."

This got everyone in the motor giggling, but when the motor finally came to a stop, Sybil said, "Let's do try and be both while we're here darlings. Remember that your Crawley cousins might be just as nervous to meet _you_."

Looking out the window at the long, rather intimidating row of relatives waiting to welcome them, Sybbie said, "They don't look nervous."

"Well, neither am I," Saoirse said with a firm nod of her head. She then opened her door and stepped out before the chauffeur could manage to open it for her. As everyone piled out of the vehicle, Sybil noticed that Sybbie had not moved, and when it was just the two of them left in the car, Sybil took her hand and said, "It's all right if you don't remember anyone. But they'll all remember you. Try not to feel overwhelmed by it all. This house is . . . well, it's many things to me, including the place you were born, and that will always make it a special place in my heart, darling. But it _is_ just a house."

Sybbie smiled at her mother and, finally stepping out, looked up at the massive structure.

"Just a house," she whispered to herself. _More like a castle_ , she added internally.

It was cold outside so other than the long embrace shared between Cora and Sybil, greetings quickly moved to the entrance hall, where there was a flurry of of them among the adults for several minutes before Mary, Matthew, Edith, Bertie all finally stood back with their combined collection of children for the footmen to take the Bransons' hats and coats. Once done, Robert and Cora stepped forward again, the latter unable to hold back her tears as she looked at Sybbie, who couldn't help but blush at the attention.

"Oh, my darling, you look so beautiful," Cora said. "You seem barely younger than your mother when she first left us to become a nurse."

"Mama, don't exaggerate," Sybil said. "It's not even been ten years."

"You look like a proper young lady, in any case," Cora said, looking back at Sybbie.

"Thank you, grandmother Cora," Sybbie said quietly.

"We call her granny," a small but determined voice piped up behind Cora. "You should call her that too, since she's your granny too, isn't she?"

Mary put her hands on her daughter's shoulders, like a gentle reminder not to speak out of turn, and Maisy's shoulders sank as if this reminder was one she was subject to on a regular basis.

But before Mary could speak up to apologize for her daughter, Saoirse did. "Da's mam is our granny. We call grandmother Cora grandmother Cora because . . . " Saoirse trailed off and looked up at her mother. "Why do we call her that?"

"Because that's who she is, silly," Sybil answered.

"You may call me whatever you like," Cora said with a smile, now greeting her second Branson granddaughter for the first time. "You must be Soairse."

Saoirse smiled, proud of herself and pleased that her name had not been mispronounced.

"Surely, you remember what you called me," Robert said, stepping behind Cora to greet Sybbie, who despite all the nerves she felt at being immersed in memories she barely recognized, felt warm inside at the sound of his voice. She smiled. "Hello, Donk."

Before she even realized she was doing it, Sybbie stepped toward her grandfather and wrapped her arms around his midsection, closing her eyes at the familiarity of the smell of his suit, the roughness of the tweed on her cheek. Michael and Saoirse exchanged a quick glance and a shrug and—always inclined to do as their sister did—immediately followed suit.

"Hi, Donk!" they sang, throwing their arms around the grandfather they had never met, something about the silly name having rendered moot their initial impression of him as a stuffy old man.

Cora smiled at the sight, pleased, while Tom and Sybil looked at one another and laughed in surprise. Robert was downright bewildered. (But also pleased.) Sybbie opened her eyes and was about to look up to Robert's face when her eyes caught sight of someone else, stepping forward.

"THOMAS!"

It had been many years since anyone had called Barrow by that name, and he had no time to form words in response when the trio of Branson children who had pinned Robert in their embrace ran over to do the same to him. The now longtime butler was as bewildered as his employer, though—given his relentless stoicism—much less obviously so.

"Why are they doing that to Barrow?" Maisy asked loudly and in a concerned pitch.

Tom stepped up quickly, pulling the children back toward himself. "They are rather free with their affection. Sorry about that, Thomas."

"It's Barrow now, sir," Thomas said in the humorless tone that Tom remembered well.

"Of course," Sybil said in an easy tone. "What a wonderful promotion for you. It's so very nice to see you."

"Thank you, Lady Sybil," Thomas replied.

"Don't you like to give hugs, Miss Maisy," Sybil said turning to her niece.

The latter gave her head a skeptical shake, which made the adults around her giggle.

"I'm afraid she has her mother's affectionate nature," Matthew said.

Sybil laughed heartily while Mary rolled her eyes and said, "I'm as affectionate as the next English person, which is as affectionate as any person needs to be, thank you very much."

Sybil took Sybbie's hand and stood her in front of her cousin George. "I don't suppose either of you remember, but you were quite close when you were young."

George and Sybbie eyed each other rather warily, as if disinclined to believe that had ever been the case. George looked up at his father, as if asking for permission to move away.

Matthew said, "Go on, son, say hello to your cousin."

"Hello," he said quietly.

"Hi," Sybbie responded.

"Do you remember Marigold?" Edith asked, pushing her own daughter, who'd been holding her younger brother's hand, to join the tête-à-tête.

Sybbie stepped back once again and shook her head.

"Hi," Marigold said quietly, with a nervous smile.

"Well, I'm sure you'll all be thick as thieves again in no time," Cora said. Turning to Sybil and Tom, she added, "They all look so wonderful."

"They do," Robert said, coming up next to them. "I can't quite believe it."

"I'll thank you for the compliments even if though it sounds like you think we've been living in a wood shed," Sybil said.

"It can't have been easy," Cora said. "What with the crash and Tom losing his job when the dealership went under. Mama has told me how bad it is in New York."

"It hasn't been easy," Tom said. "But if you've spent any time wondering if we go to bed hungry, we don't."

"We have Tom's family near, and we support each other as much as we can."

"We're Irish, after all, or have you forgotten?" Tom said with a smirk. "We survived the famine. We can handle the whims of a capitalist market."

"I see you haven't outgrown your socialism," Robert said.

"If anything, Lord Grantham, I'm holding on to it even more dearly than before," Tom replied.

"Who's Lord Grantham?" Saoirse asked, pulling on her mother's skirt.

"Your grandfather, darling, you know that," Sybil said.

"I thought his name was Robert," Michael said.

"My name _is_ Robert," Robert said with a smile.

"So why doesn't da call you that?" Saoirse asked.

"Very good question, my darling," Cora said, throwing Robert a pointed look.

Robert rolled his eyes, then turned to his son-in-law. "Tom, please call me Robert. It's about high time you did, don't you think?"

Tom smiled. "If you say so."

Robert stuck his hand out, and Tom shook it. Before he pulled away again, Robert said, more sincerely, "We really are happy to have you again and to see that you're doing well."

"Thank you, papa," Sybil said, stepping up to kiss him on the cheek.

"Why don't we go into the drawing room and continue catching up," Cora said.

"Of course," Sybil said. She felt her younger children's hands slipping into hers and she began to move off, and thought nothing of it until she heard someone clear her throat firmly behind her.

"Pardon me?" Sybil said, looking at the woman, who was wearing a grey frock and white apron and cap.

"Oh, this is Nanny Storey," Mary said, "how silly of me to have forgotten to make the introduction. She will look after the children. We had the footmen bring in extra beds into the nursery just this morning. It's all set up."

Tom, Sybil, Sybbie, Saoirse and Michael all turned and saw that the rest of the children had lined up at the bottom of stairs to go up, with a second nanny standing a step above them. Sybil and Tom looked at each other in shock. How could they have not remembered this!

In their row home in Boston, they had a kitchen, a spacious sitting room and a study that Sybil and Tom shared on the first floor. Upstairs, there were three bedrooms, with Michael in his own and the girls sharing, though the previous year, Tom had rigged up a curtain in the middle to give them each a bit of privacy. The house had been bought and paid for when things were good, but even so, it wasn't especially big—not for a family of five. So having gotten used to always having their children within earshot, Tom and Sybil plain forgot that at Downton it would be much different.

"Come along, children," Nanny Storey said cheerfully, signaling to the children that they should step behind their cousins. "Nanny Collins will lead us up."

"She's ours," Bertie pointed out. "We couldn't go anywhere without her."

"I'm afraid the children wouldn't let us," Edith said with a smile.

Sybil and Tom kneeled down to level with their brood, who made no effort to move with their parents and showed no interest in being near their cousins.

"Darlings," Sybil said, "Mummy and da are going to go to the drawing room to talk with everyone."

"And we can't come with you?" Michael asked. "Why not? We're allowed to go anywhere we want at home."

Sybil sighed. "I know, but you'll have much more fun in the nursery. We'll be up to check on you in a while."

"It doesn't feel like it's going to be very fun," Saoirse said.

"It will be," Tom said. "That's where the toys are, after all. If you come with us, you'll be bored in no time."

"Let's go, you two," Sybbie said with a sigh, taking her siblings hands. "Let's just get this over with."

Sybil looked at Tom with a worried glance at Sybbie's words.

"They'll be fine," Tom said as the kids all begin climbing the long set of stairs from the front hall, behind the two nannies. "Let's don't start breaking your parents conventions in our first hour."

Sybil chuckled and gave one long wistful look to the backs of her children as they made their way up the stairs, before finally turning and heading in the opposite direction.

The children made it to the landing and turned to go down the hall to climb the second bit of stairs to the part of the attic that housed the nursery. Sybbie, Saoirse and Michael fell a few steps behind as they tried to take in everything.

"Why didn't your nanny come with you?" Maisy turned to ask her cousins.

"Quiet please, Miss Mary Margaret," Nanny Storey said, not turning around. "You know the rules."

But Maisy persisted. "Does she not like England?"

"Maisy!" George exclaimed. "Stop asking stupid questions!"

"It's a rather long trip, Miss Mary Margaret," Nanny Collins said, "It would be hard to ask someone to leave home for so long, during the holidays."

"We don't have a nanny," Sybbie said firmly.

"You don't have a nanny?!" Mary Margaret said, obviously flabbergasted by this possibility. "How is that even possible?!"

Saoirse rolled her eyes. "We don't _need_ a nanny! We have Sybbie!"

"But she's a child! How can she be a nanny!?"

"I'm not a nanny, but I'm also not a child. We don't have a nanny and that's that. Mind your business!"

"That makes no sense!" " Mary Margaret insisted.

"That's quite enough, children," Nanny Storey said firmly, stopping to look back at them. "Miss Sybil, Miss Sarah and Master Michael, there is no talking in the hallway here at Downton."

"My name is "Seer-sha, not _Sarah!"_

"I said no talking until we get to the nursery!"

Sybbie looked at her fuming little sister next to her and rolled her eyes. On her other side, she felt Michael tugging at her hand.

"Why did she call me 'Master Michael'?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Sybbie said, whispering back. "Things are weird here."

"We're not weird!"

Sybbie and Michael both looked up to see George looking over his shoulder at them. He'd not been as quiet as Michael and Sybbie just now, but still hadn't managed to get scolded. By that point, they'd made it to the nursery. Nanny Storey opened the door and in went Marigold, Peter with their nanny, then George and Mary Margaret. When Sybbie, Saoirse and Michael moved to walk through the door Nanny Storey stopped them.

"Since the Pelhams have taken the extra room, you girls will be sharing Miss Mary Margaret's room, and you, young man, will be sharing with Master George. I couldn't possibly mind all of you, so I've half a mind to ask his lordship to send for assistance while you're here."

"We don't need a nanny," Sybbie said holding her nose up in the air.

Nanny Storey pursed her lips. "I may well regret this, but all right, Miss Sybil, if you're so confident that you can be in charge of your siblings."

"I am."

"Good, well. We join the adults for tea at 5 o'clock sharp. Dinner is served here at 7:30, and lights out promptly at 8:30. We take a walk on the grounds after breakfast, weather-permitting, but otherwise stay out of everyone's way and _especially_ out of trouble. Am I understood?"

Sybbie nodded. The other two were so taken aback by the number of rules, they were struck dumb. Nanny Storey was about to let them pass but put her hand on Saoirse's shoulder just before they were inside.

"Say it again."

Saoirse looked at Sybbie, confused.

"She means your name," Sybbie said.

"Seer-sha."

"Sir-sha?" Nanny Storey repeated.

"Seer-sha!"

"Why in the world would your parents give you such a difficult name to pronounce?"

"Because it means 'freedom' in Irish," Saoirse said proudly.

"It's not difficult to pronounce," Michael said, looking at Nanny Storey as if she'd said she couldn't pronounce the name "Smith."

Sybbie smirked and pulled her brother and sister all the way into the room.

The nursery at Downton Abbey was made up of five adjoining rooms. The first and biggest was a large play area in which the left side of the room held Maisy's toys and the right held George's. In the middle was a long table with twelve chairs, where the children took their lessons and occasionally, when there was company who was not to be bothered by the presence of children, their meals. Just beyond was a hallway that led to the bedrooms, the Crawley children slept in the rooms on the right, while the nannies, and the Pelham children were on the left.

The Bransons stood just inside the door taking everything in for a few minutes, while the rest of the children proceeded to return to the playthings they'd left behind when told they had to come downstairs to greet their Irish-American cousins. The nannies made themselves busy in the bedrooms setting clothes out for the children to change into before tea.

Sybbie, Saoirse and Michael looked at one another, wondering what they were supposed to do now.

"I want to go see mummy," Saoirse said quietly.

"You're not allowed," George said, from his corner where he and Peter were playing with his trains.

"Thats ridiculous," Sybbie said.

"Grown ups are very busy," Maisy added. "We'll see them at tea time."

"But what if we need to see them before?" Michael said.

"Why would you need to see them before?" George asked. "Are you a baby?"

"I'm not a baby!"

"Well, why do you need your mummy all the time?"

"I don't need her all the time! I just like seeing her whenever I want!"

"Never mind, Michael," Sybbie said, cutting in. "Just because their parents don't like them—"

"Our parents do like us!" Maisy and George yelled at the same time.

"Then why do they keep you locked up here all day!?"

"It's much nicer here than the rest of the house," Marigold said, trying to serve as peace maker. "Don't you want to play?"

Saoirse stepped forward, tentatively approaching a row of dolls.

"You may take this one," Maisy said behind her, pointing out a doll with dark brown hair that was clearly the oldest and rattiest of the bunch.

"But what about this one?" Saoirse said pointing to one that was dressed like an angel.

"That doll is too nice to play with."

"Too nice to play with? Then why have it at all!?"

"Because I like it," Maisy said putting her hands on her hips.

"That makes no sense!"

"It makes perfect sense!"

Turning back to Sybbie, Saoirse said, "I HATE IT HERE!"

Before Sybbie could stop her, Saoirse ran out of the nursery.

Michael ran after her before Sybbie could stop him, so of course, she had to follow.

"Why do you have to be such a baby?" George said, turning to his sister. "They're just silly dolls."

"As if you don't hover over Peter every time he sits down to play with your trains," Marigold said, putting her hands on her hips.

"I'm not a baby either!" Peter yelled out.

"Oh, hush, no one's said anything about you," Marigold said.

"We should go after them, so they don't get lost," George said.

"But they're so mean!" Maisy said.

George sighed. "I won't deny that they're not . . . rough around the edges."

"Let's just go make sure they haven't gotten into trouble," Marigold said, leading the rest of them to the door.

But the children didn't have a chance to make it two steps. Having heard the ruckus, the nannies came back into the playroom. Seeing the Bransons gone, Nanny Storey asked, "What's happened with your cousins?"

George, Marigold, Maisy and Peter all stared back at their minders, unsure as to how to respond.

"They said they didn't like it here," Marigold said, finally.

Maisy shrugged and went back to her toys, adding, "And they decided to go back to America."

xxx

In truth, the young Bransons only got as far as the kitchen, having found the servant stairs after walking down to the second floor from the attic.

Daisy, now Mrs. Parker and head cook, along with some of the maids who had been around when the Bransons still lived at Downton, were delighted to see Sybbie again, so if anyone questioned why the children weren't in the nursery, no one seemed to pay the issue any mind.

Sybbie, Saoirse and Michael, who admitted to being a bit famished from their trip, got milk and biscuits for their troubles and quickly decided this was the nicest part of the house, no question. Seeing on the clock that it was near 5 o'clock and not wanting to miss the time they'd be allowed to go see their parents—wherever they were—Sybbie quickly excused the three of them and headed back they way they came. As they were leaving Michael moved to quietly pocket another handful of biscuits that were on a large baking pan near the door, but he was quickly stopped by one of the scullery maids.

"Silly lad, those are for his lordship's labradors!"

"But they look just like real cookies," Michael said.

"Put one in your mouth and then tell me if you think so."

"Can we keep them anyway?" Saoirse asked. "To give to the dogs at tea time?"

Daisy shrugged. "I don't see why not."

Sybbie stepped forward and unfolded her handkerchief to wrap the biscuits in. "We'll give them to the dogs, all right," she whispered as her siblings giggled along with her.

xxxx

By the time the Branson children made it back to the nursery, their cousins were dressed and ready for tea. Nanny Storey gave them a decent scolding for running off, but Sybbie made up a long sob story about being homesick and feeling the need to see their parents and having gotten lost in the hallways of such a big house. Helpfully, Saoirse cried on cue to underline the narrative.

"Well, let's go see them now, then," Nanny Storey said with a sigh, suspecting dishonesty was afoot, but a bit at her wits end as to how to deal with such precocious children.

Maisy was rather headstrong, and George, too, had a bit of a stubborn streak, but neither were prone to rule-breaking and were certainly not the type to question their minders. The Branson children clearly had been raised to answer to no authority but themselves.

All the way to the library, George questioned why Saoirse hadn't merely told the truth—that Maisy was being selfish. It was true, and George had been prepared to back her. He knew Marigold would have done so as well, so when his younger sister was not implicated, he wondered whether it was a sign that his cousins had decided to stand down or cause for greater concern.

Being around their parents again put everyone in a much brighter mood, so Sybbie forgot all about the cookies in her dress pocket until it was near bedtime and she was changing into her night clothes. Remembering that Nanny Storey had mentioned that the children were allowed milk and one biscuit from the jar kept in the nursery before lights out, Sybbie went back into the playroom while everyone was changing and carefully dropped them in.

In just a few minutes, one of the maids brought up glasses of milk for all the children. The nannies sat the around the table in the playroom and seeing that she seemed eager to make herself useful, Nanny Storey asked Sybbie to distribute the biscuits. Putting on her most saintly smile—which her siblings recognized as anything but and had to pinch themselves on the legs to keep from giggling—Sybbie started at the head of the table where George sat, then moved on to Maisy to his left, and Marigold and Peter on his other side before finally getting to Saoirse and Michael, certain, by that point, that all the dog biscuits had been taken. Being children who had learned their manners well, the Crawleys and Pelhams all waited until Sybbie had sat down before digging in.

Saoirse was the first to take a bite, saying, "Oh my, what a delicious treat," with such exaggerated flare that both Michael and Sybbie kicked her under the table, lest her theatrics give the game away prematurely.

But the rest of the children were not paying any mind, so when they did take a bite, instead of sugary softness, they were met with a bitter, mostly tasteless wheat wafer that, paired with the milk, had a consistency of wet cardboard.

Marigold and Maisy spit theirs out back on the table immediately.

"Girls!" The nannies yelled in unison.

"Miss Marigold, what kind of manners are those?" Nanny Collins said, coming over to clean up the mess.

"There is something wrong with the biscuits!" Maisy said.

"Mine tastes just fine," Michael said, dipping his half-eaten cookie in his milk and eating it with a smile.

Nanny Storey picked up a biscuit from the jar and, naturally, it tasted perfectly sweet and moist. "Perhaps it was just yours."

"Mine tastes awful, too," Peter piped in. "May I have another?"

"No, one is enough for everyone," his nanny answered.

"But they were spoiled!"

"What about yours Master George?" Nanny Storey asked, now wondering if a prank was afoot.

George knew by now that it was, of course, as he saw the Bransons laughing amongst themselves. Sybil looked up to meet his eyes, and sticking out his chin in defiance, George said, "Mine tastes perfectly good." Then he put the rest of his biscuit in his mouth and swallowed quickly, trying as hard as he could to keep his face from making any sort of expression of distaste.

"Well, I shall let Mrs. Parker know," Nanny Storey said. "Now, time to wash up and get in bed, children."

Sybbie bounded up from her chair first and pulled her siblings along.

"It's not fair," Maisy said. "Mrs. Parker's biscuits and _never_ spoiled."

"Don't you see," George said. "They played a trick on us!"

"The cooks?"

"No! The Bransons!"

"What!?" Maisy exclaimed, finally standing from her chair.

"Shhhh!" George said motioning for her to keep her voice down.

"Why didn't you say something?" Marigold asked, concerned. "Surely, they'd have gotten punished!"

George smiled. "Because nanny's punishment won't be nearly as fun as ours!"

xxx

Branson children rarely went to bed on time, but given the exhaustion that comes with travel, they were out like a light in no time.

George had to make sure the nannies were asleep as well before he got out of bed.

Once Nanny Storey's tell-tale snore could be heard next-door, he crept out of his room, careful not to wake Michael in the bed next to him. Then, he went into Maisy's room. She heard him immediately and motioned for him not to come in. She slowly got out of her own bed and, following George's lead, went into the room where Marigold and Peter were already sitting up waiting.

"So what are we going to do for our revenge?" Maisy asked.

"How do you know what 'revenge' means?" Marigold asked with a laugh.

"Because I'm clever," Maisy said. "Why else?"

George laughed at his little sister. "Well, you best be brave, too, because I think we need to call on our secret weapons."

"Secret weapons?" Peter asked. "What's a secret weapon?"

"It's something you use when you have been left no choice," George said.

Marigold bit her lip. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

xxx

**Twenty minutes later . . .**

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

"EEEEEEEEEEEKKKK!"

"Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!"

Sybil, Saoirse and Michael all ran screaming into the hallway toward the playroom, but just as they reached the threshold, they felt their feet tangled in a web of yarn and fell into a heap.

"WHAT IN HEAVEN'S NAME IS GOING ON!" Nanny Storey ran out of her room with tufts of hair sticking out from her cap in a way that made the half-asleep Bransons scream out all over again.

Nanny Collins, having followed Nanny Storey out of the nannies' room, ran around her and immediately kneeled down where the children were.

"What's the matter? Are you hurt? What's all this yarn doing out?"

"There are mice in the bed!" Sybbie said, trying to get herself on her feet.

"There are what?" Nanny Storey repeated.

"Mice!" Saoirse replied. "Big, hairy mice!"

Nanny Storey gasped, appalled. "There are no mice at Downton Abbey!"

"Then what do you call _this_!" Michael lifted up one of the creatures, which he was holding by the tail.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

Once Nanny Storey was done letting out her blood-curling scream, she promptly fainted and fell unceremoniously onto her back.

The rest of the children had made it out of their own beds at this point and could barely contain their laughter at the sight, not of their cousins—the actual targets of their prank—but of the usually unflappable woman laid prone by terror over a critter no bigger than her thumb.

Once free of the yarn trap their cousins had set for them, the Bransons stood up and, faced with the same sight, couldn't help but fall into giggles themselves.

Nanny Collins sighed. "All right, darlings, you could all get into a heap of trouble over this, so why don't you help me get her back in bed, and we'll call it even."

Feeling a half-dozen set of hands on her arms trying to help her up, Nanny Storey woke up and rubbed the back of her head. "Ugh," she moaned. "What's happened?"

"Nothing, dear, you've just been sleepwalking," Nanny Collins answered

"Wha . . ."

"There, there, dear, don't move to fast," Nanny Collins said, getting the older woman on her feet and guiding her back to her room. "You woke the children, who were kind enough to help me."

Once she was back in bed, she moaned again. "I'm going to have a headache in the morning."

"I'll let the family know if you're not feeling well don't worry," Nanny Collins said, but it didn't matter. Nanny Storey was back snoring loudly even before she'd finished her sentence.

Turning back to the children, she motioned to them to go back to the hall way.

"I'm going to close this door behind me," she said, "and when I wake up in the morning there better be no more superfluous creatures running about, so their owner had best put them back wherever he keeps them. Perhaps to lure them back out, someone else can find the spoiled treats that _somehow_ managed to find themselves in the biscuit jar. And once that task is done, there'll be apologies all around and no more of this hateful behavior among young children who know better and love each other very much, am I understood?"

The children all looked at one another guiltily and nodded.

Once the door was closed, George trudged over to his room and came out with a small cage. Michael walked up to him and gently put the mouse he had managed to grab when it began scurrying around in his bedsheets back in its home.

"I like him," Michael said smiling. "I screamed because I thought it was a snake at first. I don't much like those, but mice are all right."

George smiled back. "My dad lets me keep them, but nanny doesn't allow it, so I usually keep them under the bed. There's a hole in the wall that I let them escape through, but they always come back because I save the best bit of cheese for them from my breakfast."

"The other two are in my room," Maisy said, "so get them out quick!"

"It's all right, the cage serves as a trap," George said, walking into his sisters' room, with the rest of the kids filing in behind him.

He set the cage in the middle of the floor and pointed everyone to head back out of the room again. "They won't come out if we're all in here."

With nothing left to do but wait, the kids went into the playroom. Sybbie turned on one of the small lamps and sat on the floor by the window. Saoirse went over and sat next to her sister, curling up to her with the rag doll that had made the journey with her from Boston tucked under her chin. Michael sat down on Sybbie's other side.

Marigold took her brother's hand and sat next to them. Finally, George and Maisy joined them.

"We're sorry about the biscuits," Sybbie said quietly.

"We're sorry about the mice, and the string," George said.

The space between them was quiet for several minutes. It was Maisy who finally broke the silence.

"Why don't you like us?" she said with tears welling in her eyes.

"Why don't _you_ like _us_?" Saoirse asked by way of reply.

"It's not that we don't like you," George said with a shrug. "We just don't know you."

"You were rather mean to us when you got here," Maisy said, with an over-exaggerated pout that made Sybbie smile.

"We miss home," Sybbie said.

"But you just got here," Marigold said. " Downton can be fun if you give a chance."

"This house looks like our church, which isn't a very fun place," Saoirse said.

"Yeah," Michael agreed. "This is nothing like where we're from."

"But _you_ are from here," Maisy said, pointing to Sybbie, "mummy and daddy said so."

"No, she's not!" Saoirse said. "She's from _us_!"

Sybbie couldn't help but laugh. "That doesn't make any sense."

"You know what I mean."

"Did you not miss us when you left?" George asked, in a small voice.

"Mum says I did," Saoirse answered. "She and da say I cried a lot, actually."

"So you don't remember anything?" Marigold asked.

"Not much."

"What about you, George, do you remember Sybbie?" Maisy asked.

George shrugs. "Marigold?"

Marigold shook her head. "I wish I did."

Sybbie smiled. "It's all right. We're older now, so we'll all remember this."

"So, I'll remember being scared out of my wits by a country mouse," Saoirse said with a smirk that suggested it was a story she'd enjoy telling again and again.

"And I'll remember eating something meant for Horus," Maisy said giggling.

"I'll remember us all becoming friends," Marigold said. Then, she leaned over and whispered something into her brother's ear. He laughed and stood up. Shyly, he walked over to where Sybbie and Saoirse were cuddled together and began wiggling his fingers over them.

"Tickle monster!" he yelled and pounced on them.

The rest of the children followed until they were all gasping for breath from laughing.

A quarter of an hour later, mice caught, they were all getting ready for bed again, when George quietly motioned for Sybbie to follow him.

"Where are we going?" she asked, whispering, when she saw that he intended to leave the nursery.

"You'll see," he said.

Quietly, the two made their way all the way down to the main hall where the house's huge tree was set up. It was surrounded by countless delicately wrapped boxes, which George began rooting through.

"What are you doing?!" Sybbie gasped.

"Just wait."

After several minutes of digging, he finally found what he was looking for. "Finally!" He stepped back around the tree to his cousin and handed her a small box. "Open it."

"But it's not Christmas yet."

George shrugged. "It's all right. I don't think mum will mind."

"If you say so," Sybbie said nervously. Taking a deep breath, she quickly tore through the package and found herself holding a small picture frame with an image of herself, George and Marigold holding hands in the Downton garden.

Sybbie looked back up at her cousin with tears in her eyes.

"I wrote a note on the back, too," he said.

Sybbie turned the frame around, and sure enough on the back, a note card had been pasted on with George's messy cursive.

_Dear cousin Sybbie,_

_You may not remember Downton, but Downton will always remember you._

_Sincerely,_

_G.R.C._

"Mum told me what to write," he said with a laugh.

"It's perfect," she said throwing her arms around her cousin.

He laughed. "You really do like hugging, don't you?"

Sybbie sighed into his shoulder as she felt him squeeze her back. "I'm afraid so."

xxx

Once they were back in the nursery, Sybbie tucked the picture under her pillow before drifting off to sleep.

The morning greeted everyone with a fresh blanket of snow, and Matthew, Bertie and Tom took the children out to play in the snow all morning. Lunch was a picnic in the library with hot chocolate and peppermints and biscuits—the good kind. After tea, the Bransons lit a candle to leave in the window, an Irish Catholic tradition that they told their cousins all about. Then, they went to bed early to make up for the lost sleep of the night before and in anticipation of a visit by Father Christmas.

Later that night, Tom and Sybil lay in their own bed grateful for having made the decision to travel here.

"I was so worried when we first got here," Sybil said. "It's not that I want the children to want to live here or anything, but I wanted them to have happy memories of the place—at least, enough that they remember it fondly."

"Well, they seem to have made such memories today, and we have a week yet before we go home."

Sybil snuggled herself into Tom and began toying with the buttons of his pajama top. "And I can't say I'll mind having such a large bed to enjoy while we're here."

Tom rolled himself over her and started tickling her sides. Sybil laughed until there were tears in her eyes. Tom pulled her into him again and kiss her long and hard. When he pulled away, there was a seriousness in his eyes that surprised Sybil.

"What is it, darling?" she asked.

"Do you wish we'd move back? Or wish we'd never left?"

Sybil sat up. "No! Why? Do you?"

Tom shook his head and let out a sigh. "I've been worried since we got here that enjoying all the comforts of this life that we'd . . . I don't know . . . reconsider our choices."

"It's been hard a few years," Sybil said. "I won't deny that, but living here would be difficult in a different way. I've loved seeing my family, but can you imagine life inside these walls? There's the comfort of financial stability, but to enjoy it you almost have to force yourself to forget what's going on in the world, forget knowing how working people are suffering, forget that there's still injustice. I couldn't put myself through that again, and I couldn't put out children through it. I'm glad to know that if we ever hit really hard straits we're not alone in the world. For now, that's comfort enough."

Tom smiled and leaned over to kiss Sybil. "Have I told you that I love you, recently?"

Sybil laughed into the kiss. "Not in the last thirty minutes."

"Happy Christmas, love."

"Happy Christmas.


End file.
